


The In Betweens and Us

by GrumpyBones



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: I force them to kiss, Literal idiots, M/M, Someone finally says the thing, Wordplay as foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-18 19:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyBones/pseuds/GrumpyBones
Summary: Zachary Quinto has allowed himself to be called many things in his life, but he alone is crossing coward off of that list.





	The In Betweens and Us

It’s been months since they breathed air from the same room but the moment his eyes settle on him everything realigns. It's always been the way for them, their individual orbits restructuring at the crack of recognition, the sensation of waking up in your own bed after too long a stay away overtaking in a singular moment, disorientation meeting comfort. It stopped surprising him a couple of calendars ago, the efficacy of whatever this is. That it never seemed to hold consequence for them, long weeks passing, events unfolding, people scratched out like lottery cards… whatever the in betweens held, _they_ could always snap right back to _them_ regardless.

Zach spots him first, standing near an expansive window which is serving him well as a glorious backdrop of the city. He looks his usual casual perfection, even as his body reaches the line of contortion as he not so accidentally leans away from a girl Zach hopes, for her sake, he didn’t come with. He could go over and help, throw Chris a conspicuous life raft in the form of an intentionally oblivious, _There you are!_ Zach wouldn’t need more than the pass of a questioning glance and half an ascertaining eyebrow to make present company understand that this new conversation was taking precedence without the weight of a third wheel. This would be far from the first one-sided foreplay he's interrupted on Pine's behalf, presumably it'd be a kindness to everyone involved.

And he would, truly, if only his favorite part of the whole thing didn't rely on him keeping within the margins. He holds his mark at the end of hall, waiting for the telltales of Chris’s sixth sense kicking on, growing from an inconvenient whisper to an unignorable whine somewhere deep within his brain cavity. The way his jaw starts to twitch, stance restless, blinking too often, before giving in to that neural itch and scanning the room in search of who he already knows will be there. Chris solemnly swears it only happens with him, and damn them both, Zach believes it.

Either Chris’ third eye has been beefing up or absence really does make the clairvoyance grow stronger because it doesn’t take long tonight, despite the redheaded distraction.

It takes every ounce of will Zach has not to break when Chris’ face instantly drops, mirroring Zach’s excessively passive expression as their irises link from polar sides of a badly lit room, all to the soundtrack of Taylor Swift and her latest one that got away. To anyone else they must seem arrantly miserable to see each other. But this is just act one, the purely mental game of rock-paper-scissors to see who's stuck making the first move. Chris’ win-loss record on this is abysmal as it is and with an escape already overtly listed among his current desires… an eyebrow raise from Zach is really all it takes for Chris’ paper to be diced. He’s at least kind enough to offer his new friend a goodbye before fleeing much too quickly to remain in polite territory, civility no longer his immediate objective. Zach only allows an unsportsmanlike smirk to conquer when Chris is finally close enough to touch, if he wanted to.

“Have you even pretended to socialize?” Chris asks, if only for the sake of being arrogant.

“I’m insulted you would even suspect such a thing,” Zach pushes himself off the wall, “You ready for this?” Gesturing to nothing in particular.

“You always ask that.”

“And you always say always,” as Zach falls into step.

They find a corner together where the traffic is slower, music quieter, and claim an unoccupied couch. Pine sits too close, thighs pressing together, and Zach feigns a fuss even as he leans into the warmth of his side. It's only an hour in and they’re attempting to endure a man wearing a backwards baseball cap/dress shirt combo, a choice which Zach has finally concluded lacks satirical intentions, as he educates the room on Hollywood’s gender politics when Chris’ knee knocks deliberately into his before Zach’s mouth is even open to interrupt.

Only it isn’t to discourage him. Zach’s a few cocktails deep, Chris a couple glasses in of whatever brown liquid he’s become friendly with, and maybe that’s to blame the look between them — making their doublet an instant menage a trois as the force of it solidifies. Neither of them seem exactly culpable for the shift but Chris _is_ the one who acknowledges it; his hand pulling across the back of Zach’s neck as his arm unwinds from its natural perch across his shoulders, _'We're done here,'_ whispered directly into his ear.

No one even remarks on them leaving with the night still so young or them doing so together, the, _‘Early start tomorrow,’_ generic excuse being shelved for lack of anyone asking. Zach tries not to wonder if Chris even bothers to notice, if anything in him would care that this is considered their normal according to their peer group.

“I assume you’ve brought your car?” He asks once they’re already outside.

He’s blaming the way his voice shifts deeper on his New York based system being hit with the welcome shock of a sunless 57° in March. It’s a poor excuse, far more damning evidence to be found in the way it coincides so precisely with Pine’s arms stretching off the confinement of the party, shirt lifting, revealing an inch of tight sun-kissed stomach skin.

Chris’ only answer to his almost forgotten question is to dangle his keys off his index finger, suspiciously close to where Zach had just been preoccupied by the faint strip of hair leading into his waistband. He looks bemused, Zach notes, which somehow bodes worse than smug. Ego be damned, he lets himself be wordlessly led to a silver little thing he’s almost sure he’s never seen before.

“Really, Pine? Another one?”

Over the low roof Chris holds a finger up to press against his lips in the universal sign for _shut up_ and Zach is nearly surprised that he even takes the trouble to respond at all, them both knowing too well what Christopher Pine behind a groaning engine can do to him.

Zach slides in, ready to take a jab at the way the seat is already pushed back all the way, creating the room for his six foot frame that Pine’s normal date roster rarely requires. The word, _presumptuous,_ tickles the tip of his tongue when the sight coming from the drivers side manages to summon his latent meekness. Chris is leaning in over the center console, looking at Zach like he could eat him alive and still receive the offer of dessert. And, for once, Zach isn’t arguing.

“Those who judge, walk,” grinning as Zach finally closes his mouth, eyes darting away from Chris' lips and that smile replete with immodesty.

The drive is mostly silent other than Chris' preset of slow jazz that Zach intentionally does not file a statement on. Instead, he leans his head back against the rest, fighting against the urge to simply gawk at the way Chris seems to glow in the light of each street lamp as they pass under them. The world blurs as it whips past, the night consuming most of what would be worth seeing. His chauffeur is stiff competition in the viewing desirability category, time of day be damned, and the pull from his side of the cabin is too strong to really ignore for long. It’s only a second, maybe two, after he gives in and indulges that Chris, knowing him far too well, catches him out of the corner of his eye. Zach practically grants himself whiplash with the speed at which he turns away, never one to make something easier on himself.

Chris doesn’t call him out, lacks even the minimum of an arrogant smile, eyes simply returning to the road ahead as he makes an exaggerated show of flexing his hand on the gear shift. Zach watches the fingers curl around the leather, swallows down the desire to reach out and cover them with his own, knowing that's exactly the lure Chris has cast. He doesn't know if this is merely bait or an actual offer and he's too loyal to the idea of having lost his last battle for the night.

“I did get a room,” he realizes belatedly, when Chris’ house is already in view, most definitely too late for Chris to do anything resembling practical with the information.

“Mazel Tov,” is the deadpan reply, the driveway already being pulled into.

He looks Zach over once, perhaps waiting for him to mention calling a cab, before that knowing expression creeps back and Chris is out of the car and up the walk, disappearing into the house without so much as a glance backwards. Zach barely hesitates to follow, his natural pace set to city speed, and yet Pine is already in the liquor cabinet by the time he catches up to him in the kitchen.

“I just assumed that we’re night-capping.”

Zach doesn’t answer fast enough and Chris vetoes the democratic process, uncapping the whiskey right in front of his face, the burn from the inhale so deep that it overpowers the scent of Pine’s cologne. He flinches away from it, their continued close proximity causing his knee to actually rub against Chris’.

“I’m sure there’s a reason to celebrate,” he ultimately offers, after they’ve already been poured.

The responding chuckle is a deep one, pulling out the laugh lines on his face as it smolders into one of Zach’s favorite smiles. He appears halfway through a plan, already rejoicing in the result, so sure in the future execution. He looks _happy._

“Any suggestions, Mr. Quinto?” He asks, sliding the heavier handed drink along the 2 feet of granite to Zach before raising his own.

“To getting out of that puerile party before midnight.”

Chris balks a bit, swerving his cup out of the path of Zach’s.

“Now that’s no attitude to have. We are young,—”

“Not vaguely.”

“ —full of promise,—”

“Full of _something._ ”

“ —and in preferred company.”

Zach sucks his teeth at that for a moment, debating just how many cards he wants to reveal this early. Chris’ grin takes the victory as his eyebrows raise in challenge right as Zach lifts his whiskey in mirror, deciding to fold altogether.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he warns over the sound of glasses clinking.

Swallowing, the liquid singes until it runs out of nerves to aggravate and the beat seems to stretch as Chris swirls his alcohol before putting it down. He’s avoiding Zach’s gaze, most likely without intention, as he allows himself to delve into whatever mental distraction currently pens the smirk donning his face, hip jut out to press against the counter as he watches the liquid continue it’s path to settling. And Zach really can’t help himself when he reaches out to touch his forearm, waiting until Pine’s head turns so he lives in more than just peripheral, and suddenly Chris is staring at him like he could write a whole novel on everything he could teach Zach about himself.

“God, I’ve missed you,” as his hand skirts up from his arm to Chris’ neck, fingertips running over the edge of his jaw before melding to the curve of his cheekbone, pulling Chris’ willing face further in his direction.

Everything feels right until the indiscernible moment when nothing does anymore. Chris’ usually pliant lips begin stiffening, barely giving way under Zach’s even as his tongue attempts to trace the seam of them. His body seems to brace itself against something, cementing in every way except the good ones everywhere their bodies touch. All at once his face is cringing under Zach’s palm, Chris tugging away from him, taking a whole step back and turning away, with a small pathetic groan. Zach stupidly just stands there, hand hovering in the air where Chris’ stubble just was, until whatever lagging system in his brain finally catches up, slapping it back down to his side.

“Come on, Zach,” Chris scolds, the back of his hand raising to wipe across his own mouth as if Zach’s left an undesirable taste on it.

For his part, Zach just stands there staring at the back of Chris, wondering which 8 signals he clearly misinterpreted. He feels odd apologizing, not wanting to be patronizing when he has no idea where this reaction to their standard procedure is coming from. He has a long standing rule of only saying sorry when he actually knows what he’s done.

“ —Shit, are you seeing someone?” He asks instead, immediately regretting it when Chris turns to level with him, frustration giving way to the border gates of anger.

“I didn’t realize I needed a reason not to fuck you.”

 _‘You don’t,’_ seems beyond condescending. _‘You’ve just always wanted to before,’_ is probably not a constructive addition.

“I just figured you heard about Miles and me —”

“The off portions of your on-and-off-agains aren’t exactly an irresistible turn on for me, Zach.”

And just like that, Zach’s patience grates until it’s damn near sheer, his self-defense mode booting up on autopilot.

“Would you like to share with the rest of the class? What transgression have I outraged you with? Because we both know it wasn’t actually this.”

You can see the way something unplugs in Chris, the whatever wound around him loosening its grip enough that his shoulders can sag and his lungs can fill as he stares at Zach like he’s some chalkboard at NASA, full of pieces Chris can only understand individually, the sum of him a lost concept that unrightfully reeks of recognition. But even that only lives a breath, killed abruptly by a laugh who’s definitely been around a few scoffs.

“You know, we really are a pair,” his jaw distorting as his tongue works back teeth.

The entire house has always felt significantly too big, the kitchen alone larger than some apartments Zach’s lived in. Even with the distance Chris has erected between them they must look comical, huddled together despite the expanse they’re inhabiting. _'What do you even do here by yourself?'_ He wants to ask, knowing it is far from the time. But it’s hard to think around the pounding of his own blood and the echo he knows must be a figment of his imagination.

“A pair of _what?”_

Only that’s funny to Chris too, smiling painfully at the floor as his finger wags in Zach’s direction.

“You’re absolutely right, we’re not,” and Zach doesn’t remember making such a statement. “Because a pair by nature makes sense. We’re just two fucking moons orbiting the same fucking planet due to gravity beyond our feeble control.”

“I’m not a mind reader, Chris.”

Pine swigs his cup in a gulp, his tongue now swiping across his wet upper lip as his eyes turn to Zach, glass heavily landing on the counter as the room’s walls bend in on them with each breath Chris takes.

Zach is beyond lost, trying desperately to map himself away from the area of annoyance, knowing Chris enough to know this isn’t like him. Chris has two modes: Quiet Contemplation where his M.O. is self reflection and inner storytelling, his responses a queue of grunts and hmmm’s and meaningful looks… or the boy who doesn’t have an off button installed on his switchboard. Half answers whose sole purpose seem to be frustrating misdirection has only ever meant one thing: Chris is intentionally not saying something. The war behind that blue is only confirmation.

“Christopher.”

And the kitchen that had just felt immense suddenly narrows to the roughly 10 square feet that they and the expression on Chris’ face are currently taking up. Chris only searches for a moment before clearly figuring out that Zach truly is incapable of getting whatever this is in nonverbal format. He reaches out, hand coming up to cup around Zach’s neck, thumb sweeping over the edge of his adam’s apple.

“I’m in love with you. And I’m pretty sure it’s been mutual for awhile,” he fingers squeezing once before slipping away. “But we’re going to just keep play dodgeball, right?” The smile is about a state’s width off and he takes a step back when Zach opens his mouth. “I’ll probably be gone before you even wake up tomorrow. You know the drill, help yourself to whatever you want to eat.”

And then just _leaves_ without even sparing him a second look.

Zach just stands there until the sound of a door closing ripples through the house, releasing him whatever fucking spell Chris just put on him to ensure his immobility. He breathes in, out, once, twice, until almost 10 minutes go by and he almost feels back to human instead of the embodiment of discomfiture.

 

* * *

 

It’s almost exactly 4am when Zach eventually concedes that he can no longer keep up the rouse of sleeping. Counting the optimal choices of time travel and completely self destructing as nonviable, he’s unfortunately only able to devise three, less alluring, options:

1\. He could continue to lie here, tossing and turning, and pretend to snore through the sounds of Chris leaving come morning. He’ll pester Chris immediately with stupid texts of memes and puns and pictures of all the horrible fashion conundrums one man can find in Manhattan on his daily dog walk as if, by brain injury, he's forgotten last night had the nerve to exist. Until Chris finally, hopefully, gives in and returns to his role in their two-man-act and they’ll revert to the luxury of their everyday charade until the day that they finally can’t anymore.

2\. He could simply get up and leave in the middle of night, making use of that room he genuinely did book for the very off chance that his bluff was called. He’ll pen a heartfelt note about how he’s a dick for pushing, lolling words about how he never meant to take advantage of anyone, and stick it where Chris will find it in the morning, probably with no surprise. The silence will reign for a few days until the irritation of not getting the last word will drive Chris to reach out and they’ll both half apologize without actually discussing it and the road will continue as previously scheduled till the next impasse is found.

Or.

3\. He could actually grow a pair and do the one thing that he’s been terrified to do for damn near 15 years and at least be able to say that, if they go down, they went down swinging.

Zachary Quinto has allowed himself to be called many things in his life, but he alone is crossing _coward_ off of that list.

He’s down the hall in just his boxers and socks, trying to tell himself it’d seem weirder to be wearing jeans at this hour, when he opens the door to Chris’ bedroom, skipping the knock.

“Jesus Zach, I was serious,” is the immediate greeting. Too quick and clear for him to have been the only one still counting sheep.

“Come on. I’m not here to beg for something you don’t want to give. I've never been that desperate for sex.”

“So what does cause you such desperation that barging in here at —” he checks the clock. “Fuck, 4:12? Aren't you still on east coast time? Have you even tried to sleep?”

Zach gives him the so-so gesture which he may or may not be able to see in the backlighting of the hallway. Chris takes the hint and his bedside table lamp clicks on. He looks exhausted and like he just wrestled a bear and perfect, as he always does. Zach doesn’t comment on that, or the fact that he’s not one to lecture Zach on the merits of slumber.

“I think part of me refusing to just wait until tomorrow to do this is just my natural flair for the dramatic but I also felt like I might completely renege on this if I don’t do it when I’m too fucking enervated for common sense.”

“You’re stalling. That counts as pre-reneging.”

A deep breath offers him zero clarity on how to go about this.

“I think about you dying a lot.”

Chris takes a well deserved audible inhale at that. It's an opening statement in dire lack of eloquence, but they're both acutely aware that Zach forgot how to be subtle in the early years of the new millennium. He watches as Chris does his best to reset, eventually landing on humor as his angle of choice for shortage of a better one. 

“If you want to get rid of me that badly— ”

“Stop, even we’re not dark enough for that joke right now,” he leans back against the door frame, his heart has been racing for hours and his whole body feels weary for it. “I think about getting that call. Or, I don’t know, maybe your family is too caught up in it and I see it on the fucking news. Get a text from Karl or someone, ‘Hey man, have you heard…?’”

Chris, at last, sits up, patting the edge of the bed as he moves over from the middle.

“Is there a point to this self torture?”

Zach hesitantly shuffles over, allowing himself to take the offered slice of mattress. He keeps his feet on the floor, half of him convinced that a clear and quick out may still be required at some point.

“I’m not being a martyr here. I’m not trying to claim that I’d just off myself,” his hands have come up to steeple around his nose, index fingers pressing into the inner corners of his eyes. “It’d be fucking awful, I might finally make some news worthy of E-Hollywood, but I’d keep going,” his palms half block the path of his words, giving them a tinge of that muffled filter, like he’s on the other side of a bare thin wall.

“That’s…. Reassuring?”

Zach shakes his head, sending his hands to his knees.

“That wasn’t the point, how I would be after isn’t the crux to all of this, that’s a sidenote at best. _The point_ is how I’d fucking feel knowing that I never wrote this chapter with you while watching them lower you into the ground or staring at that stupid jar or… what’s your family’s typical death plan?”

“Is this the prime time to discuss that?”

Zach finds the nerve, somewhere deep down, to pull one leg up onto the bed so he can turn to look at him. Chris has adjusted position, propping himself up on an elbow, head tilted down towards the bed in what appears to only be lack of the energy it’d require to keep it on straight. His expression though, it’s slightly confronting, the utter lack of confusion in it and Zach wonders if he’s already puzzled his way to the end of this conversation on his own. He’s clearly decided that, for once, Zach’s due to serve the time instead of simply bailing him out.

“I’ve always had 101 reasons not to do this with you.”

And, yes, of course, Chris understands.

“I bet mine are better.”

“I’m not actually great at relationships. And you? You are the worst at them.”

“Downright atrocious,” and that may even be a smile’s cousin.

“The equation I always bet on was that if something happened that took this off the possibility list — not even necessarily something grim. Say you found someone, became a republican, started pronouncing ‘croissant’ as _'qua-sant'_ , and we just had to permanently bury this prospect. Then I could be okay. Because it was never really on the table to begin with so it being off the table… you can’t mourn what you never tried to have.”

He must look downright pathetic, not finding the will to care as he wars on the very cusp of simply begging Chris to finish this thought for him.

“You’ve already jumped out of the plane, Zach, you might as well pull the chord.”

Zach hates him for being right, for having a better map of Zach’s inner self than he himself could ever draw up. There's a finish line here, one entirely worth reaching, but the nature of these things ensure that they don't come to you. If Zach wants this race to be won then his own two feet are going to have to carry him across that marker.

“But if I said something, or let you say something, and if we decided to flick that switch, and everything fell apart anyways, after all of that? Knowing you're just out there somewhere, gone, and staying gone, because I wanted more? I don’t know if I could be.”

Chris gives his proclamation about four whole seconds of pause before reaching out, fingertips delicately dragging down his flank.

“Last summer Anna dragged me to see Hamilton again,” Zach just stares at him, assuming he has a plan. “You remember?” He nods, vaguely reconstructing the timeline in his own head. “We came up together, me for Boys in the Band, and she split off to spend some time with her sister. But at the end of the trip she decided that she absolutely had to see it again before we left the East Coast for an indeterminable amount of time and Sara couldn’t go with her. So I was chosen as occupant for the seat next to hers.”

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t like Hamilton? Because I think I have 102 reasons now.”

Chris only chuckles, wrapping his fingers around Zach’s naked forearm.

“No, Quint, quality of the event wasn’t an issue. I had no reason to not want to go with her, no reason not to enjoy myself while doing so, no reason to want to be somewhere else, and I still had an unmitigated bitch of a time. All for the simple fact that you had invited me to a thing with Matt and the guys and it was the only place in the world that I wanted to be.”

“That’s… entirely flattering.”

“I know your little soirée was nothing compared to a Tony winning —” 

“11 Tonys.”

“—act but that isn’t how it works, and I think you get that. Sometimes when there’s something you want, something you’re just convinced down to your core is the better thing, it doesn’t matter what you put it up against. When you won’t even give Plan A a breath of a chance then Plan B is always going to feel like something you’re just enduring.”

“The time log on that metaphor —”

“Oh fuck you,” he says, laying back down.

“It’s almost 5am Chris, this is the hour of brevity.”

“It’s the hour of letting people fucking sleep but that didn’t hold any of your horses,” rolling away from Zach, covers immediately being pulled up to his chin.

“I had to come in here if we were going to talk, my personal choice was removed if I wanted to serve the greater good. You could have made this much simpler and just told me that you’re madly in love with me.”

“ _I did,_ you nitwit. All it got me was a whole lot of gawking and a pre-sunrise wake up call.”

Zach leans over him, shaking Chris gently from where his hand has wrapped around the curve of his side, just barely able to feel the indent of each rib under layers of blankets and muscle. “Chris?” All he gets back is a grumble that may be a _what,_ though Chris does at least open his eyes, tilting his head only enough to see him. “I’m in love with you too.”

Chris sighs, eyes reclosing, as he settles back into his pillow, shrugging off Zach's hand. Zach waits a moment, not exactly sure what that’s supposed to mean, refusing to make any assumptions in pure desperation to finally do this right.

“Well?” Chris asks, annoyance that breaks under a terribly held laugh. “Get the fuck in here, asshole.” Zach’s in no position to turn down a good offer and is tucking himself in before the words even go cold. “I have to be awake in 2 hours so don’t even think about it.”

“Yes, M’lady.”

“And I just indefinitely call little spoon,” lamp clicked off, slowly losing that just-on haze as the room disappears with it.

He lines his front up to Chris’ back before allowing his arm to snake over his middle, pulling him in just that inch more. There’s a hum coming from the humidifier, the rustle of a dog bed where Wednesday rearranges herself in the darkness, and four lungs steadily breathing, slowly falling into a rhythm. Each point of contact feels as if its loosening another knot in Zach's stomach until maybe there's just one.

“Hey,” Zach’s lips brush against the nape of his neck as he asks, “you ready for this?”

It may be that Chris' extrasensory perceptions have finally mutated to become contagious or perhaps Zach's own simply requires touch, but somehow the answering smile can be felt through the center of Chris’ bare chest where Zach’s fingertips have begun to drag lazy patterns. Chris arm slides along the length of his, finding his hand, and winding their fingers together, moving Zach’s palm up to lay against the dull thud of his heart.

“You always ask me that.”

“And?”

“When are you gonna get this?” Chris moves under his arm, shifting unto his back, and leans in, pressing his forehead against Zach’s with such accuracy in the nothing that it makes him shudder in response, just a bit. “The answer is always going to be always,” Zach can hear him swallow, nose pressing firmly into the side of his. “At least where you're concerned.”

And if the sun is threatening to be up by the time Zach’s done kissing him, even Pine seems content in leaving that worry for tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> *Another one bites the dust plays faintly in the background*
> 
> As always - I hate all of you who encouraged me to do this and until next time you can find me @grumpybonesey on tumblr.
> 
> <3 LLAP


End file.
